


The Last of the Gaunts

by Maurey



Series: LoG anthology [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe, Harry embraces his Slytherin side, Harry is So Done, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Romance, Time Travel, Translation in English, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-14
Updated: 2017-10-14
Packaged: 2019-01-17 11:21:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12364653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maurey/pseuds/Maurey
Summary: And so, a smart individual has sent Harry Potter far back into the past to re-educate the young Tom Riddle. After some hesitation on whether it was wise to keep the Slytherin Heir alive, Harry grows attached to Tom. As for Riddle himself, well...





	The Last of the Gaunts

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Последний из Мраксов](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5627980) by [E_Godz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/E_Godz/pseuds/E_Godz). 



> This is a bit of a pet project of mine, which I originally started because I'm starting to forget my mother tongue, which caused me to pursue fanfiction of my favourite pairing to encourage myself to read more in Russian. I thought translating might help me re-learn vocabulary and the like more quickly, plus this story should be seen by a wider audience, in my opinion! I've also written out a prompt for a fanfic of my own, but I haven't written creatively in a long format in years, so the practice beforehand will be a useful experience beforehand, I imagine.
> 
> Currently looking for a beta to look over my overall grammar, writing style/presentation, typos, etc. While this is a translation, it isn't a direct one due to the difference between the flow and grammar of the languages involved, so I have a lot of room to play around to make the syntax work nicely. No set update schedule at the moment, but I'm aiming for once to twice a week, though the delay may increase when I get to longer chapters. The original fic is just under 200k, however, based on this chapter, it might end up around a third longer overall. There are some side stories that go along with this fic that I'll try to translate around the time that they happen within the story.
> 
> Reference to underage sex in this chapter, characters involved are 15 or over.
> 
>  
> 
>  _'Thoughts'_  
>  §Parseltongue§

The cigarette tasted slightly acidic in his mouth, which, in retrospect, wasn’t all that surprising; the pack had been lying around in the back of a cupboard for at least a year. Potter settled at the table in the cramped, dirty kitchen of the equally-small, dingy apartment that he’d been renting for almost a year and a half, intending to wallow about the current undesirable situation he was in. Harry took another drag of his cigarette before throwing its butt in the sink – he didn’t want a smoke badly enough to tolerate the sour, half-degraded garbage. It wasn’t like he had much of an alternative, however – there were no other cigarettes in the apartment, and he didn’t have the money to buy a new pack. The young man pulled his wallet out of his back pocket with a soft sigh, and reluctantly counted his cash. _Heh_. If only there **_was_** something to count.

 

 **“An airliner has crashed within several dozen meters of residential housing”** , -the television boomed from the neighbouring room, causing Harry to awkwardly flinch and ram his elbow against the fridge. “Shite! Zabini, you bastard! Turn that down!”- Potter snarled as he rubbed his bruised joint. Predictably, the reporter’s voice became even louder, - **“There were 80 passengers on board, including 6 children and 18 foreign passengers – 6 from Germany, 5 from Poland, and one each from France, Switzerland, Russia, the United States, Latvia, Turkey, and Italy. They, along with 6 members of the crew perished in this unfortunate incident.”**

Harry simply snorted; in the two years that they had run from the magical world, they had seemingly switched personas. Potter was increasingly attaining and relishing in the Slytherin aspects of his personality, while Blaise was trying to stop the process in whatever ways he was able.

 

 **“The flight director has allowed us to discover that in their last moments, cabin crew allegedly had an inadequate response to dispatcher commands, doing the exact opposite of what they were instructed. Furthermore, when questioned, they had reported that everything was well on board”,** – the reporter continued, with the expected empathetic tones lacing his near-monotone. “And what, exactly, are you trying to tell me with this demonstration? That wizards are at fault? Death Eaters? I don’t give a fuck, Blaise!” – Harry growled, irritation swirling in his gut.

 

The television went silent, and the former Saviour of the Wizarding World could hear the shuffle of slippers approaching from behind. Zabini leaned against the kitchen doorway, remaining silent. He’d never been much of a conversationalist, even in Hogwarts, but in recent years he’d seemed almost mute. If Harry was remembering correctly, the former Slytherin hadn’t said a single word that month, something he referred to as passive protest in his head.

 

“…what do you want, Zabini?” – he finally questioned in a soft, calm tone that was once typical for him, stifling a sigh. “We have to go back”,- Blaise answered through grit teeth, a barely-detectable contemptuous note present in his voice. They had never allowed themselves to show each other tenderness, affection, or even respect, stubbornly continuing to put on a show of hating each other. The young men had almost perfected their roles. In truth, Harry had never been certain of what his lover really thought of him. Perhaps, Zabini really couldn’t stand him, but simply had no other place to go. Potter, himself, was certain – he felt nothing towards Blaise. Not anymore. Once, however… Once, it had, most likely, been love.

 

“Why?”                 

 

“We can’t continue to just hide here - Muggles keep dying. Voldemort is winning.”

 

“Or he has already been victorious”, - Harry observed with a hysterical bark of laughter.

 

“You have to kill him.”

 

“Stop spouting bullshit. I’ve already told you, I’m not obligated to do anything for anyone.”

 

“Potter, in that case, I’m leaving.”

 

“Good riddance.”

 

Harry heard a half-choked sob and a rustle of movement behind him. To spare Zabini’s pride, he decided against turning to look at the former Slytherin while he allowed himself a moment of weakness. To Blaise’s merit, he near-instantly pulled himself together, and it wasn’t long until he could once again hear the quite scuffing noise of his slippers, now headed in the direction of their bedroom. It seemed that he was intent on packing his things. Potter slid down to the floor, and pulled another cigarette out of his pack. The fact that its taste left much to be desired no longer bothered him. Harry clicked his lighter, but nothing happened – it was out of fuel. In the bedroom, Blaise was banging his baggage in an exaggerated fashion as he got his things together.

 

Potter decided that he’d have to start packing, himself, as soon as Zabini Apparated away. Even if his former lover had no desire to disclose the location of their apartment, he was almost certain that their remaining government would question him with Veritaserum upon his return. The former Chosen One was no longer certain as to whom was leading the British Ministry, or even whether it existed anymore, but he had no desire to be captured by either side involved in the battle.

 

He wasn’t at all sorry that Blaise was leaving – the Slytherin had been of little benefit to him from the beginning. Zabini had spent the majority of the past two years laying on the couch in front of the television. He’d occasionally fall into borderline tantrums, attempting to turn his roommate back onto the ‘righteous path’, while Potter, himself, was working to make them a living. Without using magic, Harry couldn’t earn much, as he had no significant Muggle education, which is exactly why they had been living in a third-rate rented apartment in a cheap region of Manchester. He had kept Blaise around more by force of habit than anything else. Not to mention, he was Harry’s one last tie to the magical world.

 

Today, he would lose that last connection. He only had to snap his wand to completely isolate himself. After all, he had burned his Invisibility Cloak and the Marauders Map, once his most prized possessions, long ago. It was worth considering where he should start with looking for a new residence. While it was wise to move to another city, he would have to find some way to procure new documents from somewhere. Last time Harry had moved, he’d at least had some money. Now, even if he used the savings he’d kept for a rainy day, the total sum of his available cash amounted to no more than £20.

 

 _‘This really is unfortunate timing’-_ Potter mused with a sigh. Zabini slowly made his way down the narrow corridor, hoping that his former lover would have change his mind and would call out to him. Realistically, he knew that would never happen – Harry had changed too much in recent years.

 

“See you”, - Blaise shouted in a passive-aggressive manner into the quiet of the apartment before slamming the door shut.

“Good riddance”,- Potter repeated with a snort as he fiddled with his lighter in an attempt to get it working.

 

The young man rose from the floor with a sigh, and reluctantly made his way to the bedroom to assess the damage the departure of the Slytherin had caused. He barely had time to glance at what had been left in his wardrobe before there was a polite knock on his door. Logic dictated that it was likely Zabini returning, having forgotten something, but Harry’s intuition was telling him otherwise. Regardless, Harry went to open the door, against his better judgement.

 

 

***

 

They had first slept together during their Fifth year. It wasn’t that they were suddenly in love, after discovering how gorgeous the other was during breakfast, and they hadn’t secretly fallen in love at first sight when they had first arrived at Hogwarts, either. Simply put, the situation in Britain had been difficult at the time, and there were increasingly few people he could trust with his arse. Not to mention, there weren’t many gay or bisexual guys in the school, to begin with. Zabini had known that Potter would find it just as detrimental to gossip about their relationship as he, himself, would. He hadn’t made a mistake in trusting his classmate, either – the Gryffindor Golden Boy had even found himself a girlfriend as a cover. Harry had subsequently mentioned, even to his lover, that he’d been in love with Chang since his third year, disregarding the fact he was sleeping with another man.

 

They had typically met up in one of the old classrooms in the abandoned wing. It hadn’t been a particularly cosy location, but it had been rather safe from prying eyes. Not to mention, a quick shag on a rickety desk was more than enough to satisfy them. There was no slowness or tenderness between them - their couplings were always rough. No conversations over positions had happened, either – from the very beginning, Zabini had topped, and that had never changed. On a similar principle, Harry had never given Blaise a blowjob. It wasn’t romantic or high-brow, and likely not healthy, but it worked for them.

 

Hell, if you had asked Zabini when he had realised that Potter had started to mean more to him than just The-Boy-Whom-He-Could-Fuck-Without-Consequences, he couldn’t have told you. Perhaps, it was when Harry’s lovelorn glances at Cho had started to piss him off? Or, perhaps, it was the day when he had caught himself thinking that he really wouldn’t mind sitting next to Potter in the library, their elbows and knees touching. Or even, perhaps, it was the moment when Blaise, choking, was eagerly swallowing the Golden Boy’s cum? In either event, at some point, Blaise had realised that he was in love with Harry, and that fact had persuaded him to finally act. The concept of showing his feelings through tenderness or courtship was incomprehensible to the Slytherin. Instead, he had decided to do something that Potter would truly appreciate, like digging up more information on his family.

 

He had ended up finding the research truly interesting – while the history of James Potter’s predecessors had been rather expected, it was hardly that simple with Lily Evans. Zabini had unwound and examined thread after thread, and had gradually come to understand that the entirety of this information had long been laid out on the surface, as if waiting for someone to come and attain it. Someone cunning and evasive had wanted all this dirt on this respectable family to be brought to light.

 

Zabini could probably be blamed for everything that had happened after he had dug up something superfluous about Harry Potter’s origins. Blaise, unfortunately, had never been fated to find out about what his actions would lead to. Forgoing Apparition for whatever reason, the former Slytherin had run into an old acquaintance on the third-floor landing of the stairs.

 

“Malfoy? Why are you…”

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed that so far! Be ready for a POV alternation and trip into the past for next chapter.
> 
>  
> 
> While I've never actually read the HP universe novels in Russian, I've been doing some research on how some of the Wizarding terms have been changed to help me avoid confusion. As such, I've decided to share some of the more amusing ones in the endnotes when they're relevant to the chapter, for those that might be interested. While two tidbits would actually be relevant for this chapter, I think I'll keep my favourite for next chapter.
> 
> There's no concrete, singular term for 'wand' in Russian, so the phrase that is generally used, when literally translated, means 'little magic stick', though it's often shortened to just 'little stick', wherein 'little stick' is a single word (palochka), simply diminutive of the typical form (palka). This amuses me, if only because it's slightly difficult for me to imagine something along the lines of 'Then, Voldemort drew his little stick, and pointed it menacingly in the direction of the younger wizard' without cracking up.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Since this is a prologue, I'll try and get the next chapter together a bit sooner than I would otherwise.


End file.
